He sprang from the ground, as the outlaw leader bent toward him; and his foot, catching the man under the chin, hurled him back against the men behind him, throwing them into sudden confusion. Nomad, the next instant, was leaping away. He did not run toward Nebuchadnezzar, preferring to take the chances of bullets alone, so strongly did he love his horse. Bullets followed, whizzing through the air round his head. The outlaws jumped in chase of him, yelling like Indians. Nomad stumbled, as he thus leaped along, and fell to the ground. It was a good thing for him; for bullets swept through the air over the spot where he dropped, and some of them would have struck him if he had remained in an upright position. He was trying to rise, when one of the outlaws sprang on him, landing astride of his back, and almost knocking the breath out of him. This outlaw threw his arms round Nomad’s neck, and yelled for help; and, other outlaws piling on him at once, the old man was forced to submit. When he had been tied, and sat helpless on the grass, and the light of a hastily built camp fire illuminated the scene, he stared quizzically into the face of the infuriated leader, who stood now before him, boiling with rage. “If old Nebby once puts his foot in yer face,” said Nomad, “man, you’ll know thet the little love tap I handed ye wa’n’t jes’ nothin’ at all! And what would ye expect? Was I goin’ to stand still and let ye kill me? You’ve got me now; and so I cal’late I can’t help myself.” Snaky Pete, for it was he, drew a knife. “I’m tempted to slice ye into mince meat!” he gasped. “I wouldn’t,” said Nomad coolly; “fer I’ll tell ye right now that I’m too old and tough ter make good mince meat out of.” The man turned around, fierce in his manner as an enraged grizzly. “Where’s Pool Clayton?” he snarled. A young man, a mere stripling, stepped forth from the vociferating crowd. “Here!” he said. Nomad looked at him by the light of the fire. He saw a youth of comely appearance, yet with a certain hardness of face that showed a desperate attempt at recklessness. “You’ve been braggin’ of yer nerve,” said Snaky Pete to the youth. “Hyer’s yer chance to show it!” Pool Clayton looked at his chief uneasily. “I don’t think I understand you!” he said, in clear-cut tones that were quite unlike the gruff, thick speech of his companions. “Ye don’t?” “No.” “Well, hyer’s a chance to show yer nerve, and prove that you’re one of us. You need hardenin’. We’ve got this old fool; but we can’t keep him, and we can’t let him go. Git your gun, and put a bullet through him, as he sets there. That’ll finish him, as a warnin’ to others like him; and then we’ll go on.” The young man became as pale as if he had seen a ghost. He looked about appealingly. “I--I--can’t do it!” he gasped. “It’s--it’s murder!” Snaky Pete glared at him. “You won’t obey orders?” “Yes--I’m willing to obey orders, but----”